


Family Values

by clgfanfic



Category: due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene for Miss Fraser</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Values

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Last of a Breed under the pen name Laura Zane.

          Fraser stood, critically examining himself in the full-length mirror.  The dark blue blazer dress hung becomingly from his shoulders, but…

          He reached into the dress and tugged the bra stuffed with tube socks slightly to the right, then smoothed the dress.  There.  That was much better.  The helpful clerk in lingerie had been correct; the D-cup was much more flattering.

          Diefenbaker whined appreciatively.

          "Thank you kindly," Fraser replied.

          He removed the flora silk scarf from the hook on the wall and positioned it around his neck to hide the muscles and, hopefully, make his shoulders appear less broad.

          Dief growled softly.

          "Well, yes, I know it's a spring item, but it's all I could find."

          Another growl, followed by a soft grunt.

          "I'm sure no one will notice I'm two seasons off in my accoutrements."

          Dief grunted and lay down.

          Fraser checked the scarf again, tossing one end over his shoulder.  "See, it even adds a little color to the dress," he argued with the wolf.

          Dief ignored him.  If the mountie wouldn't take his advice, there was no reason to offer it.

          With a soft sigh and a shake of his head Fraser gave up the discussion.  He stood a little taller, letting one shoulder point forward slightly further than the other, giving his waistline more definition.  "That's better," he said, smiling slightly at his reflection.

          "Two more items to go," he stated softly.

          Sitting down, Fraser pulled the pantyhose over his still hairy legs, resolving to shave when he returned home.  The clerk who had helped him find a brassiere suggested that not doing so might prove embarrassing if his feminine persona were caught with hairute gams.

          The mountie's brows bunched and he frowned, bunching the dress around his waist and tugging the hose all the way up.  He drew a deep breath, wondering if he should try something other than a 'control top' brand.  He dropped the dress back down and stared at his legs, noting the tangle of hair pressed down under the thin material.

          Why a woman who decided to forego the chore of shaving her legs on a regular basis should be equated to one with an alternative sexual orientation was beyond his comprehension.  He shook his head and stepped into the black shoes he'd chosen.

          Standing, he surveyed the final result.  "Passing fair," he decided aloud, then unbuttoned the dress and started to slide it over one shoulder.

          "Aaahh!"

          Fraser turned, his hands coming up automatically to cover his newly acquired artificial cleavage.

          His father stood, pressed back into the corner of the dressing room, his hands held up in front of him, obviously to ward off the attack of a started, outraged woman.

          "Uh, I'm sorry," he apologized.  "I— I—"

          "Dad," Fraser chastised, "this really isn't the time—"

          The grizzled mountie's eyes widened and his neck stretched forward as he studied his son.  "Benton?"

          Fraser straightened.  "Yes, Dad, it's me."

          Diefenbaker whined resignedly and rested his head on his outstretched paws.

          "He won't be here long," Fraser assured his wolf as he glanced clandestinely over the top of the dressing room door, making sure he was alone with his specter father before he engaged the man in conversation.  Talking with someone who wasn't really there was harder to explain than a desire for a small wardrobe of women's clothes.

          Robert Fraser Sr. sagged back against the wall, one hand clutching his chest.  "Ben... what— what...?"  He blinked rapidly, gaze fixed on his son.  "You, you haven't been to Switzerland lately, have you, son?"

          "No," Fraser replied, nonplused.  "Why do you ask?"

          Bob Fraser waved his free hand spastically at Ben's attire.  "Why, son?  You haven't—?  You're not—?  Have you been struck on the head?  Hard?"

          Fraser gave his father an indulgent look.  "I'm helping Ray, Dad."

          "Helping?  Ray?  Son, I don't think engaging in—"

          "Oh, Benton!  Is that you, dear?"

          Fraser spun in the small changing room, teetering slightly on the two-inch heels.  He would definitely have to practice walking in the pumps.  Couldn't be any harder than learning to ice skate, or run in snowshoes.

          "Grandma," he greeted, his eyes widening slightly.  He hadn't seen the small, plump older woman since he was in the hospital last.  When Ray had shot him...

          And he was donning drag for the detective?

          His grandmother beamed.  "Oh, Benton, you really do make a very lovely girl," she said.  "The young Inuit boys would have been saving up their seal tongues, hoping to win your favors.

          "Thank you kindly, grandma."

          "Mother!" Fraser Sr. cried, horrified.  "Don't encourage him, woman!  It's—"  His gaze shifted to Fraser as he stepped out of the dress.  He focused on the lacy brassiere.  "It's not... natural."

          "Oh, pfft," she said, dismissing the comment.

          Fraser Sr. took a half step closer to his son, one hand coming even with the lacy mounds.  He used the tip of one finger to press against the material.

          Fraser slapped his hand away, castigating the man, "Dad, really.  That is quite rude."

          "You should be a blonde," his grandmother announced.

          "A blonde?" his father countered.  "Absolutely not, mother.  He'd make a much better redhead.  Something dark, rich, long…"  His eyes flew wide.  "What am I saying!"

          "Dad, I know this might be hard for you to understand, but I have to be a woman—"

          Fraser Sr. dropped back against the wall again, both hands clawing at his chest.

          "Dad?" Fraser said, suddenly concerned.  "What's wrong?"

          "A heart attack," the old mountie gasped.  "I think… I'm having… a heart attack."

          Diefenbaker sighed heavily and grumbled under his breath.

          "What do you know!" Fraser Sr. challenged the wolf.

          Fraser squared his shoulders, causing his fraudulent breasts to poke toward his father face.

          Fraser Sr. groaned and shook his head.

          "Dad, you're dead.  You cannot have a heart attack."

          "Even if he did, it can't kill him," his grandmother assured Fraser.

          "How do you know?" Fraser Sr. demanded of Ben.  "You're not dead.  Maybe I can have a heart attack.  You would, if you saw your son dressed like— like— like a libertine school teacher!"

          Dief's head came up and he cocked his head to the side.

          "How did you know?" Ben asked his father, amazed again at the man's uncanny powers of observation, not that he hadn't been trying to look the part of a schoolteacher.

          "Know what, dear?" his grandmother asked.

          "That I'm going to be a schoolteacher," Fraser replied.

          "Oh, that's very nice, dear," the old woman said.  "What will you be teaching?"

          Fraser looked momentarily concerned, but he shook his head.  "I'm not sure, actually.  But I understand that St. Fontana's is a very prestigious all-girls Catholic school."

          "Aahhhh!" his father cried, clawing at his chest again.

          "Oh, Robert," his grandmother said, shaking her head.  "He'll be such a good role model for those young women – so kind, and courteous; so polite, and honest.  Not to mention his perfect posture."

          "Posture?" Fraser Sr. replied.  "You're talking about posture while my son, my _son_ stands there in— in… lady's undergarments?"

          Fraser sat down on the small stool in the room and unbuckled his pumps.  "Dad, it's not a lifestyle change," he said, pulling the shoes off and standing.

          The older man's hands fell away from his chest.  "It's not?"

          Fraser shook his head.

          "You're not…?"

          Fraser shook his head again, then reconsidered.  "At least, I don't think so."

          "You don't think—?"

          Fraser interrupted his father.  "What I mean is, I haven't met a man who's interested me in that particular manner," he explained.  "But that doesn't mean that I might not meet such a man.  In which case—"

          "Stop!" Fraser Sr. cried.  "I don't want to know."

          "Fine," Fraser said, reaching up to unfasten his bar.  He pulled it off one shoulder and the two pairs of tube socks tumbled out.

          "Oh dear," his father said.

          "Foam rubber works much better, Ben," his grandmother suggested.

          "Oh?" Fraser replied.  "Yes, I guess it would.  The shape—"

          "How, how long are you going to be a woman?" his father asked, stopping the discussion before it could start.

          "I'm not sure," Fraser admitted honestly.  "As long as it takes to find a young runaway girl who's in trouble."

          "Oh," his grandmother said.  "You always were such a nice boy, helping everyone who needed it."

          Fraser smiled indulgently.  His grandmother did have a tendency to dote.  "Well," he said, "as much as I'd like to stay here and talk, I have to go pick out a wig and find Ray."

          "A blonde," his grandmother said.

          "No," Fraser Sr. countered, "a redhead, just like your mother."

          "He'd look much better as a blonde."

          "No, mother, he wouldn't."

          The two specters faded away and Fraser heaved a sigh of relief.  He glanced down at Dief.  "So, what do you think?"

          Dief considered the dilemma for a moment, then whined.

          "Really?  A blonde?"  He glanced at himself in the mirror.  "I don't know, I think Dad might have been right."

          The wolf stood, grumbling lowly.

The End


End file.
